


A Thousand Miles Up

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Nine Lives [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: As far as these things go, Trevor’s pretty good at not getting caught. Has made something of a career out of it even, you might say, so this -Not really his best day.





	A Thousand Miles Up

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Anonymous who asked for Alfreyco with this prompt: 65: “ Did you do something different with your hair? ”

As far as these things go, Trevor’s pretty good at not getting caught. Has made something of a career out of it even, you might say, so this - 

Not really his best day.

Not even in the running for the top forty.

It isn’t as though he’s forgotten how dangerous his line of work is (no way to do that, really, with so many helpful reminders), or underestimating his targets (he learned not to do that a while back). 

It’s just...bad luck.

Trevor bites back a laugh (now is _not_ the time) as he studies the little room they’ve got him all locked up in.

Four walls (always a must). Floor that dips down with a little grate in the center (best not think about _why_ ), and a small window set high up on one of those four walls. 

Slit of a thing, four, five inches high at most and try as he might, Trevor’s never going to fit through it.

No, no.

Just this tiny room and the chair Trevor’s sitting in. Hands behind his back and this bunch is smarter than most because those aren’t handcuffs he could pick with his eyes closed, no. 

Heavy-duty zip-ties that he can’t break without the proper tools (the reason he prefers footwear with laces when he’s working) or the proper leverage. (Zip-ties on his wrists and another connecting them to the back of the metal chair he’s sitting in, simple but effective.)

All his little gadgets and doodads taken off him when they caught him, that sharp little ache in his shoulder, back, where the darts hit him and this pounding in his head from the tranquilizer. The bruises he can all but feel forming because he was nearly out the window when his body decided it had had enough and shut down on him.

He still has his mask, though, so very thoughtful of them considering the way his reputation’s caught up to him here in Los Santos. 

Press all abuzz at his return, questioning the whys and hows of it. 

Those with a flair for the dramatic wondering if something’s forced him out of retirement – a bad case of revenge or something else. A few brave souls wondering if he isn’t just a copycat looking for attention. (Moment of glory before some lucky bastard gets a shot at him and what a tragic story it makes, perfect for movie with a plot ripped straight from the headlines.)

And then there’s the criminal element, old clients and targets both, taking an interest in his reappearance in the best/worst ways and the trouble that’s followed him here. (Well, the smattering of trouble that followed him here, along with all new kinds he runs into these days.)

Trevor sighs as the door opens, and the leader of this particular little group saunters in. Bit of a swagger to his walk, this unbearably smug look on his face as he stops in front of Trevor.

Trevor gets a glimpse of his little cronies through the open door before it closes. Intimidating figures in their uniforms and the kind of training they’d exhibited earlier when they managed to catch him. Not people to be toyed with and expect to get away with things for long.

“Well, well, well,” the man says, all annoying smugness and this certain element of sheer delight. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Trevor makes a face, almost wishing he didn’t have his mask on because that’s just an awful thing to say, now isn’t it. 

“Oh, hey, let me help you with that,” Trevor hears, and then there are hands slipping behind his head to pull his mask off, cool air on his skin and face bared for just anyone to see. ( _Scandalous._ )

Trevor blinks up at the man studying his mask. Thoughtful look on his face as he turns it this way and that, fingers running over the deep scratch a little too close one of the eye-lenses for Trevor’s peace of mind. (Token from an admirer on a previous job, sweet little nothings and that knife he seemed so fond of.)

“I keep meaning to get it replaced,” Trevor says, nodding at the mask. “But I’ve just been so busy this last little while. You know how it is.”

Places to break into, things to steal, the usual.

The man snorts, and gives up studying whatever secrets he seems to think he can pull from Trevor’s mask and moves on to Trevor himself. 

“Ooh,” Trevor says, returning the favor as he tips his head to the side. “Did you do something different with your hair?”

It’s been a while since they’ve run into each other after all, Trevor out of Los Santos for work. (Busy, busy, busy.)

There’s a beat, the man looking at him all incredulous and the like, and then a self-conscious laugh.

“Uh, yeah,” he says as he lifts a hand to his hair, just shy of touching it. “Thought I’d try something new, you know? What do you think?”

Trevor hums, thinking, thinking, thinking about it, just to be a bit of an asshole about things.

“Well,” he says, drawing the word out a few extra syllables before he smiles. “I think it looks great. Very sharp. Professional.”

He gets a laugh for that, almost embarrassed, and a shy little smile inching it’s way back to unbearably smug again.

“Yours, uh -”

“Perils of the job,” Trevor says, because he’s well aware his own hair is a disheveled mess. Flat and lifeless thanks to his suit and running around the way he was earlier. “Sacrifices must be made and so on and so forth.”

There’s a whole speech involved. One Trevor’s saving for a dire moment for the most dramatic impact, but that’s neither here nor there.

Not with the way he’s being watched, eyes flicking over him, taking in all the little hurts that comes with his line of work. 

Small bruises, a cut here and there. Scrapes and other odds and ends from flinging himself at the side of a building and shimmying way along ledges. Crawling through vents and ducts and that thrill of satisfaction as he evaded guards and magicked his way to the heart of the building and got his little hands on the files he was hired to steal.

The...less successful escape he’d attempted and the surprise at realizing he’d been outmaneuvered almost from the outset. 

Not something that happened all that often, but given who he was playing against here, he’s not entirely surprised.

No.

“So,” Trevor says, pulling at his binds, soft sound of plastic against the metal of the chair catching his captor's attention. “What now?”

And oh, the look he gets for that. Very NSFW indeed, but the minions are on the other side of the door and they’re still both on the clock, so to speak.

“My dear sir,” Trevor says, putting a little Southern belle into it as he offers up his most scandalized look. “How dare you, I am a _lady_.”

That earns him another look, this one flatly unimpressed. (Definitely questioning his honor and integrity.)

Also, a knife.

Big shiny thing he gets a good view of before his captor moves behind him, slight tugging motion as he cuts through the zip-ties. 

Trevor rubs his wrists when he brings his arms in front of him, eyeing his captor as the man moves to stand before him again.

There’s a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Bad night?” 

Trevor could let it go at that, chalk it up to him being off his game. Still some rust to shake off, but the fact of the matter is that’s not the truth at all, now is it.

“Hmm, no,” Trevor says, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Your minions are getting better, Fredo.”

Have been for some time, really.

Geoff and Alfredo taking advantage to Trevor’s unique skill-set to test their own security. Learning to anticipate the unexpected and all that lovely business, getting only enough warning to know which target Trevor’s set his eyes on so they’d know to switch out their more lethal weapons for tranquilizer darts and tasers and the like. (Non-lethal but still damn inconvenient.)

Trevor headed for a lovely little prize of his choosing while Alfredo and his minions were meant to stop him from succeeding. All fun and games, really. Trevor running rings around them for months, Alfredo the only one good enough to get close enough to him in all that time.

Cat-and-mouse chases through various facilities, rooftop meetings, and Trevor laughing at the frustrated look on Alfredo’s face as he got away time and time again. 

...until tonight, that is.

“Yeah?” Alfredo says, losing the sharp edge that had led his minions through tonight’s exercises. Going soft and familiar as anything as he looks down at Trevor. “You think so?”

Trevor smiles up at him.

“Would I lie to you about something like that, Alfredo?”

A great many other things, yes indeed, for better or worse, but this?

“Well,” Alfredo says, mimicking Trevor’s little drawl from earlier. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

Well, yes, okay. 

Point to Alfredo, but they’re working right now, aren’t they?

“No,” Trevor says, all honesty now. “They are getting better. Smitty almost caught me when I snuck in, in fact. Kudos to her.”

Alfredo cocks his head, and Trevor sighs, oh so very put out as he goes into detail regarding Alfredo’s minions and the ways in which they’re improving. 

This bunch of misfits and outcasts Geoff’s gathered to him and decided the best person to ride herd on them now that he has is Alfredo. Letting him run them through drills and exercises to mold them into this impressive force unfailingly loyal to Geoff and the crew.

It’s been so very entertaining watching play out as Trevor sows chaos and confusion among them with these little exercises.

After a few minutes Trevor realizes Alfredo’s watching him, this little curl to his mouth that’s all about fondness and affection and what a giant sap he is, which is fitting seeing as Trevor’s in the same boat when it comes to Alfredo. 

“What.”

“Nothing,” Alfredo says, completely suspiciously as he gestures at Trevor’s face. “You just have something here.”

Trevor’s eyes narrow, because that’s one of the oldest tricks in the book isn’t it, but he still raises a hand to wipe whatever it is (isn’t) off, only for Alfredo to make this little face. 

“No, no,” Alfredo says, and there's a little smirk tucked into his voice, the line of his mouth. “Here, let me.”

Trevor eyes him for a long moment before he tips his face up. 

Absolutely not surprised at all when Alfredo kisses him, this cheeky little thing like he thinks he’s gotten away with stealing a kiss from him all clever-like.

“There,” Alfredo says, pulling back, smug little grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye. “Got it.”

“My hero,” Trevor says dryly.

Alfredo laughs, holding a hand out to help Trevor to his feet.

They still need to debrief Alfredo’s minions. Go over everything that happened tonight. Talk about ways to deal with situations like this in the future, Trevor offering up tips and advice on what to expect from people like him. (Tricky and clever and not the sort to abide by the usual rules. Innovators, really, in the business of liberating trinkets and other valuables from the undeserving.)

Not what he’d been expecting when he followed Alfredo out here, but it’s certainly never dull.


End file.
